by Thomas Laird
“Problem?”
“Yeah. When you get to my age, your equipment gives out on you, if you know where I’m going with this.”
“I’m not sure.”
“I’m not the man I used to be. You follow?”
“Not exactly.”
“Jesus, Carmen. I expect you to keep this in confidence.”
“Of course, Tony.”
He smiled wanly, and she thought she saw a bead of perspiration on his brow.
“Gravity gets to the best of us, sometimes.”
She watched his eyes carefully.
“You mean you can’t?”
“I mean I can’t in the usual way.”
“I’m sorry, Tony.”
“I’m not looking for your sympathy.”
“I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry you can’t…have what men want to have. So why am I here? I don’t mean to be abrupt or crude, but I thought…you know what I thought.”
He picked up his drink and lifted it to his lips. But then he hesitated and put the glass back down on its place. Carmen’s pulse shot up like a flare and she was afraid he’d notice the blush at her cheeks. He didn’t say anything, however.
“I did have something in mind, though.”
His eyes attached themselves to hers. His eyes seemed amber-colored. Like the middle light in a stop light. Or maybe they were yellow. She couldn’t tell. The hue seemed to alternate every time she glanced at them.
“What’s that?” she murmured.
“I…I like to watch.”
“Watch?”
“Yes. I like to watch other people. You know?”
“You mean you like to watch other people having sex?” she asked incredulously.
“Come on! You’re a big girl. You wouldn’t have shown up here if you didn’t want to walk on the wild side a little bit.”
“You mean you want to watch me fuck somebody else.”
He watched her intently.
He wasn’t looking at the champagne any longer, so she picked up her flute and drained half of the still-bubbling wine. The power of suggestion, Carmen thought. Come on, you old bastard! You must be thirsty after all this talk of voyeurism.
So he couldn’t get it up, but it got him off to witness others doing it in front of him. How Roman of him, Carmen thought.
He would not pick up that goddam glass, she noticed. What was wrong with him? Other than the obvious. The old son of a bitch was a pervert.
“Who would I be doing all this with if it’s not you?”
He smiled.
“You saw the young man who escorted you into the house?”
“What is he? Twenty?”
“You don’t like younger men?”
“I like them to be potty-trained, anyway.”
“He’s full grown, I can assure you.”
“You mean you’ve seen him in action before?”
“Several times.”
“Here? In this house, with your wife upstairs, right above us?”
“Sure. I told you. She’s infirmed.”
Jesus Christ, Carmen thought. What’d I get myself into? This old twisted pretzel wants me to ball that teenager out there, and the prick won’t even take a sip of that champagne! Now what do I do?
Ben would kill her if he found out she was even thinking about going through with Calabrese’s request.
But then she would’ve failed to get the old man to send himself to the next world. She’d spend time humping an adolescent, and the bastard would remain dry.
“Bring him in and let me have a look at him.”
Calabrese smiled oddly and went to the door again. In a few moments, he returned with the young man.
The kid was flawless. He was a little over six feet, maybe a hundred and seventy pounds. Movie star looks. Maybe that’s why he was performing for this ancient lecher.
“Go ahead,” Calabrese commanded. “Show her.”
After he closed the door behind him, he started stripping.
“The guy does this professionally. He’s huge in Vegas!” Calabrese boasted.
The shirt came off, and he was rippling with muscle. His shoulders were wide and strong.
Then he dropped his pants and his underwear. The kid was hung like a thoroughbred.
What the hell was Carmen going to do? Maybe the stage show would make Tony C thirsty. She had to get him to partake of the wine.
Carmen took up the flute and drained it. Then she began to unbutton her blouse.
Calabrese finally took hold of his drink.
Then the flute slipped through his fingers, and the glass shattered on his hard, tiled floor.
“Shit,” Tony C blurted.
“Yeah, shit,” Carmen repeated.
CHAPTER THIRTY
In southwestern Utah there was a micro town called Bannon. It was mostly rancher country, but there was a one drag town that contained a movie house, a diner, a more formal restaurant, a McDonald’s, a Burger King, an IHOP, three bars, a grocery store, a Baptist church in the middle of Mormon country, a Walgreen’s, and a post office. The nearest schools were twenty-five miles away, and Morgan and Elizabeth would have to ride the bus to public school. The Catholics had skipped Bannon.
Mark rented a house three miles west of the main drag in the blip on the map known as Bannon. It was a ranch style in reasonable condition with four bedrooms, a big, country-style kitchen, a dining room and a large living room. The furniture came with the place because the two senior citizens who had occupied the home died within the space of three months of each other, so the house was rent or buy. Mark chose to rent, and Marilyn thought it was the right move until the dust settled from the incident back in Michigan.
He wouldn’t tell her much about it, but she figured he wouldn’t, so Marilyn didn’t press him for details. She loved him. It was the first time she’d ever really been in love with a man, and she wasn’t about to let him go, no matter what he’d done. She knew it was self- defense, this last time, and she didn’t care about what he had done before. Mark might have killed a hundred men, but Marilyn thought there had to be just cause for all the killings.
There was no way to change the way she felt about Johansen, anyway. You didn’t get to choose how you felt about someone. Emotions weren’t reasonable, she knew. The brain couldn’t tell the heart how to feel.
And no one and nothing were going to ruin her single chance at being happy in this life. She loved David, but she never felt the passion she felt for his brother. And there was a complication, now.
They were lying in the leftover queen-sized bed in their new, rented bedroom.
It was early, maybe 5:30. She couldn’t make out the numbers on the digital clock that stood on the bedside table with the lamp. He was awake. She could tell by his soft breathing. When Mark was all the way out, the sound was different, but he never snored. He told her snoring got soldiers killed, out in the field. So did deodorants and cigarette smoke and anything else the wind could carry.
He rolled over and smiled at her.
“You’re awake early.”
“Yeah. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Why not? We’re good, here.”
“Are we? For how long?”
“We’ll outlast him, Marilyn.”
“There’s another thing, Mark.”
“Which is?”
“I’m pregnant.”
“Yeah, sure.”
She didn’t laugh back at him.
“No you’re not.”
“I am. I missed three periods.”
“We have to get you to a doctor.”
“Fine, but he’s going to say the same thing. I’m as regular as that clock behind you on the table.”
“I thought you were on some pill.”
“I can’t take them. They give me blisters in my mouth.”
“You should’ve told me. I would’ve…”
“Are you angry?” she asked.
Tears swelled in her eyes, suddenly.
“No, of
course not.”
“Are you angry, Mark?”
“No. I’m just a little…surprised, I suppose. I hadn’t figured on a new member.”
“He’ll be yours. He’ll be mine and ours. And the girls will finally have a brother.”
“What makes you so sure it’s going to be a boy, Marilyn?”
“I don’t know how I know but I know.”
He had to laugh, then.
“Is it funny, now?” she wanted to know.
“Yes, it is. I’m married to my brother’s wife, I inherited two little girls, and now we’re adding on, here in the middle of true nowhere. This really is parts unknown. I’m just a little taken back.”
They lay together but they weren’t touching. Then he reached out to Marilyn and drew her to him.
“When is the blessed event?”
“I don’t have any idea. We’ll have to see a doctor soon, like you said.”
“Today.”
“All right.”
Then her face darkened as he held her at arms’ length.
“What’s wrong, Marilyn?”
“Are they going to keep coming?”
He dropped his hands from her shoulders.
“Are they?” she repeated.
He didn’t answer her because he didn’t know.
*
The doctor said she was seven weeks pregnant. He figured she was due around Christmas. This was early April. They’d gone to a health care place out on the highway, about thirty-five miles from Bannon.
It had finally settled in with Johansen that there was a child to be born in addition to the other three dependents he found himself mortally attached to. There was nothing to be done. He wasn’t about to desert Marilyn and the other three because they were his, suddenly, and he had never been encumbered with responsibility like this before. He had been his sole priority, and all that was blown away pretty soon after David’s funeral. Then the load became his own.
And he didn’t regret one goddamned moment of it.
They got out into the van; he’d traded in the old vehicle and bought them a Plymouth Voyager back in Missouri, en route to Utah. It had twenty thousand miles on it, but it was easier to haul the four of them on their escape route west. He grabbed hold of her and hugged her so tightly Marilyn thought she’d suffocate.
“What was that for?” she asked when he finally released her.
“That was for anything you want it to be for.”
He drove them back to Bannon because he didn’t want the kids to be alone when they came back from school in Corrie, the town where the elementary school was. The bus ride took forty minutes and the girls would be home in a half hour. But they’d beat them home, Johansen figured. Elizabeth had a key, just in case.
They arrived home ten minutes before the bus was scheduled to arrive. They wouldn’t have time to make love before the girls got here, so they’d have to wait until tonight. After he kissed her, she asked him again.
“How long before the next one shows up?”
“I’m going to stop it. Soon. I promise.”
He was holding his pregnant wife securely, but this time she could breathe easily enough.
“How will you stop it?”
“The way I always have before.”
“What happens to us if they kill you, Mark?”
“You’ve got plenty of money. You saw the bank book.”
“I don’t want the money. I want you.”
“You want to keep ripping the girls out of schools, out of homes?”
“Who’ll stop them from coming after us, too?”
“There’s no profit in killing you and the kids. They want me. That’s all. And when Rossi’s dead, no one else has any reason to keep coming.”
“He’s got a wife, doesn’t he?”
“She’s not in the life.”
“You’re certain?”
“I never heard anything about her that says she’s involved in the business end of Rossi’s crew.”
“They’ll be looking for you to try again, won’t they?”
“From what I hear, Rossi’s got more pressing issues with his own people. Calabrese and Carbone and Bonadura are not big fans of his. They might even beat me to him. But I can’t wait for them to take care of Benny Bats. He still thinks I’m unfinished business.”
“When?”
“When will I leave?”
She nodded.
“A few days.”
“What do I tell Morgan and Elizabeth?”
“Tell them I’ll be back soon. Tell them I’ve got to finish some stuff back in Chicago. And tell them this is the last time I’m leaving them.”
*
Jimmy saw her in the cafeteria. Doc was in court regarding one of their cases, and Jimmy had already been called to submit testimony. So he ate alone on a Thursday in early April. Easter was Sunday.
She was alone, as well.
“Detective Hawke,” he smiled as he passed her booth.
“Jimmy. Want to sit with me?”
“Sure. Let me go get something from the line. I’ll be right back. You want anything?”
She looked down at her chef’s salad.
He went to the line and picked out a salad of his own, and then he got a Coke. She was finishing her green leafies when he sat across from her.
“No sliders today?” she smiled.
“Their hamburgers are crap, here, and I didn’t feel like hitting the Castle alone.”
“Good move. You’re eating healthy,” she grinned.
“I’m very aware of my dietary shortcomings, Detective Hawke.”
He stabbed at some cucumber and lettuce. He’d spooned a generous portion of blue cheese atop his salad, however.
“How’s Doc?” she asked.
“He’s good. How’s—”
“I have a new partner, Jimmy. Manny Franklin.”
“I know him. Good guy.”
“He’s a sleaze. Continuously hitting on me. He does it in a joking way, but the guy’s been divorced three times and he’s twice my age.”
“He’s harmless, Dani.”
She took a few final mouthfuls of her lunch.
“How’s the big deal going?”
“You mean our Outfit buddies?”
She nodded.
“Right now it’s quiet. But I don’t figure it’ll remain that way. Too many crazy bastards with guns, you know?”
“Don’t get in the middle of it if you can help it.”
“Yeah, well you know how it goes. It’s part of the job description.”
“I don’t know if I’m going to stay in Homicide, Jimmy.”
He swallowed a tomato slice, and he choked briefly. But he took a gulp of the Coke and his pipes cleared.
“You okay?”
“I’m all right…what prompted all this?”
She looked at him right in the eyes.
“I don’t see me doing this for thirty years,” she said.
“So what are you going to do, instead?”
“I’m going back to school. I’m going to become a grade school teacher, I think. I want to work in the Inner City with special needs kids, I think.”
“How long’s that going to take?”
“I’ve already got a bachelor’s…maybe two or three years. I like school. It won’t be so bad.”
He watched her eyes.
“You were good at this, police work, I mean.”
“Thanks. But my heart was never here. I thought it was, but I was wrong. I was just putting in time. We arrive, the cops, I mean, when it’s too late. I want to try to get to them before they wind up with us.”
“So when will you be leaving us?”
“Next week. I put in my notice two weeks ago.”
“I’m sorry, Dani.”
“I’m not…and by the way, I’ll miss you.”
“Really?”
“Come on! You know I care about you.”
“It still works that way with me, too.”
&
nbsp; Her face colored slightly, and Parisi felt a little heat in his cheeks, as well.
“I wish it could’ve worked out for us, Jimmy. I sincerely mean it. But I’m at a crossroads, I suppose, and I have to figure out which way I’m going to turn.”
“Call me if you feel like turning my way.”
Parisi rose from his side of the booth.
“I’ve got Outfit assholes to chase down. I hope I hear from you. I mean I’d like to know what happens, Dani.”
He walked away before she could reply.
*
He went to Mike’s basketball game. Then he took his son home and picked up Mary and his mother. They went to Ragazzi’s for pizza on 83rd and Cicero. It was deep pan, Sicilian, and the large pie filled all four of them up.
When they were sated with the sausage and mushrooms and thick, rich blend of three cheeses and the crisp, delicious and thick crust, they dropped Eleanor off at her house and then headed home.
“Are you all right, Daddy?” Mary asked.
She was riding shotgun and Mike was in the back of the Chevy.
“Why?” he asked her.
“You look so sad all the time. I’m worried about you.”
“Me, too,” Mike chimed in from the back seat.
“Hey, I’m good. I’m fine.”
“Do you miss Momma?”
Parisi didn’t answer.
“Do you, Daddy?” Mary insisted.
“Only every day,” he told them both.
PART FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“He dropped the fucking glass.”
She nodded. Her face was crimson with shame.
“Not your fault. Hey,” Ben told his wife. “It’s not your fault.”
He took hold of her and she began to sob.
“I thought you were a tough guy,” he laughed.
She pulled away from him.“If he hadn’t dropped it, he’d be dead today.”
“You gave it a shot, Carmen. What can I say?”
“Now what are we gonna do?”
He looked her deeply in the eyes.
“What I should’ve done, all along. Shoot the old bastard in the head.”
*
Ben didn’t know the whole story about Calabrese and he never would. After the old goat let the flute of champagne slip through his fingers, Carmen couldn’t go through with it. The male stripper was arousing himself, and she could see Tony C literally whetting his lips. That was it. She stopped unbuttoning her blouse and told the old son of a bitch she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. It just wasn’t who she was, she told him.